An unwieldy matter
by nedfan
Summary: Someone is busy ruining Canada's fine reputation as a highly civilized country with friendly inhabitants with brusque actions and questionable behavior. It's up to Ray and Fraser to pick up the pieces, literally.
1. Chapter 1

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A/N:It was bound to happen and here it is: my first Due South Fic. Not entirely new to writing fanfics, though. What can I say? I loved Due South when it ran for the first time (waaaay back in the nineties), and I love it to this very day. Every now and then there are reruns of it on tv.

The usual **disclaimer**: I don'town the characters, not making any profit,blablablabla. On with the story.

Oh, before I forget: I'm writing English but my genes are Dutch, if you see anything that's not correct (grammar/syntax etc.) let me know. Thank you kindly for reading. Hope you'll like it.

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**An Unwieldy Matter**

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The man in worn-down clothes stumbled a little as he pushed his litter-filled trolley forwards. Somewhat unsteady it veered off course and it hit something. The gray bearded drunkard controlling it looked to see what had caused the obstruction. Muttering something barely audible he took a sip of the bottle of liquor he was holding. He blurred eyesight could just make out a red blur with brownish and black tints. He decided to take a closer look and swayed round the trolley to have a gander.

'I know you', he said as he stood in front. He took another sip while spilling some of the content of the bottle. It streamed down the corners of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. The motion made him sway even more and he lost balance and tipped over and landed with his face on the red, woolen tunic.

'Well, damn, 'cho problem?' He squinted his eyes a little. 'You one of them Canadians...', he stated and started poking with his finger on the chest of Constable Benton Fraser of the RCMP, who stood guard outside the Canadian Consulate. The drunkard started pulling on his Sam Browne. 'You with the horsies, where's the horse now...'

The Mountie didn't move.

The drunk bum got a little confused, took another sip and started to yank at his arm. 'Those Canadians, funny though...could have sworn this one's alive...'

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oOo

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He was rudely interrupted when a green '71 Buick Riviera pulled up, and honked.

Detective Ray Vecchio got out.

'Bennie, how are things today', he started talking even before he was fully out of the car. 'Entertaining the low lives again?' Ray looked at the drunk bum whose clutched the Mountie's arm. 'Thisssis my one... you find y'own.'

'Hey, smartass, look around, this ain't Ottawa.'

'S-so...'

'Mounties aren't exactly on every street corner in Chicago, finding another will be difficult. And I know him longer than you have. So get lost. Besides he won't say anything.'

'He ain't real...'

'He's standing guard. What for I don't know, but it's his job. He gets paid to do this. Must be something Canadian.'

The drunk bum started to poke Fraser. 'Don't know though, this might be some statue...'

Ray couldn't really deny Fraser did indeed seem like a statue. 'Sure and I'm taking this statue with me to the station.'

'What for?'

'Public offense. His Canadian toes are on American soil.' The bum looked at Rayas ifhe saw water burning. Ray shook out a Wrigley chewing gum and started to unfold the package. Then he stuffed it in his mouth and looked at the drunkard with a bored look.

'Okay. Let's make a deal. If I tell you that in exactly five minutes this one's alive, you beat it?'

'S-sure'

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oOo

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Then the clock struck noon and Fraser turned to Ray. 'Standing guard is not entirely ceremonial, in fact it serves quite a number of purposes, like safety for instance...'

'You have to protect the consulate?'

'Well, naturally. As a part of Canada, I'm obliged as a member of the RCMP to make sure those inside and concerned with are safe.'

'Like someone would attack the Canadian Consulate', Ray commented. 'Hey, bum. We had a deal.' The drunkard just stared at them, wide-eyed and decided to take the whole bottle at once and get on his way fast, stumbling while he hurried away..

'I do recollect in 1997 there was an incident in Reykjavik where there was a breach of security into the premises...', Fraser continued.

'What, an Ice Bear got hot headed and stormed in?'

'Well, no, Ray. It was actually a reindeer, but...'

'That's not a breach of security, Bennie.'

'It's an approximation...'

'No, Bennie it's not. It's a moose running through the garden.'

'Reindeer', Fraser corrected.

'Whatever. It's not like this _reindeer_ had some grudge against Canadians, besides reindeer don't pack guns.'

'It nevertheless called for immediate attention to prevent further escalation.' Ray rubbed his brow. 'Can we go now?'

Fraser nodded. 'My shift has ended...'

'So we can go?'

'We could, yes. Whereto anyway?'

'Somewhere more thrilling than standing rock solid in front of a building and functioning as some drunk wino's punch bag', Ray added.

'It does serve other purposes I can explain, for instance...'

'Bennie?'

'What, Ray?'

'I don't care, just go.'

'Understood.'

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He walked towards Ray's car. 'My Canadian toes were on American soil?'

'What?'

'You said my toes where on American soil.'

'I had to make something up.'

'Ah, Understood.'

Ray turned the ignition key of his car and drove off. 'And they were.' Fraser looked at him confused. 'Your toes', Ray clarified.

'I see.'

'That's your answer? I see?'

'I think 'I see' is a perfectly appropriate answer to it, Ray.'

'No, it means a whole lot more. You never say 'I see' without meaning something else.'

'I see...'

'There, you're doing it again. This is not a neutral 'I see'...'

'Red light, Ray...'

Ray yanked at the steering wheel to take a sharp right turn. Other cars pressing their horns, screaming brakes. 'Where?'

Fraser was quite uncomfortably pulled from the left to the right with this sudden move. 'About thirty, make it forty meters back.'

'Seems like I missed it', Ray said.

'Yes, apparently you did.'

'I'll be more careful in the future.'

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Finally they made it to the station, and walked into the bureau. Fraser rubbed his brow somewhat with his hand while the other one held his Stetson behind his back as they walked through the hall.

'Just out of curiosity, why would my toes be bothering the American Public?'

'Bennie, they weren't. It was something I made up. You know what? Forget what I said about your toes. There's nothing wrong with your toes and they are more than welcome to step on American Soil.'

'Thank you kindly.'

As soon as they stepped into the bureau Francesca was at Fraser's side. 'Say, Ben, you don't happen to have anything planned for tonight would you?'

Fraser rubbed his brow again. 'Not that I'm aware of, no.'

'How does just the two of us sound, you know candlelight, _Ossobuco al Funghi_, you in that red serge, me in, well...something suiting. Nothing ordinary, I mean, not that there's something wrong with ordinary, it's just...'

'Common?', Fraser offered. Francesca's face lit up. 'Yes, common. That's not what it should be.'

'I see.'

'Well?'

'Well, what?'

'How does it sound?'

'It sounds like a bad plan Frannie', Ray cut through. 'A really bad plan.'

'I was asking Fraser.' Francesca's face was annoyed.

'And I'm answering it.'

'What, you're his spokesman now?'

'In matters like this, yes. And in any other matter probably too.'

Francesca rolled her eyes and walked away.

'Thank you kindly, Ray.'

'Anytime, Bennie.' It was then the door of Lieutenant Welsh' office swung open. 'Vecchio, I need you here, now. And bring the Mountie.'


	2. Chapter 2

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A/N: Some more, hope you'll like it.

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Ray poked his head round the door before stepping in. 'You needed to see me?'

Welsh laid a bagel he was trying to munch away. 'Would I have called you into my office when I didn't?'

'You never know.'

'Well, I do.'

'Just checkin', said Ray as he stepped in, closely followed by Fraser. Just when Ray tried to close the door again, it was thrust open again and Huey and Dewey stepped in too.

'Hey, never heard of knocking?', Ray said.

'No, never heard of it', said Huey and he sat down on a table. 'You wanted to see us, sir?'

Welsh, just about to take another bite, laid down his bagel again. 'What is this Jeopardy or something? What part of the statement 'I want to see you in my office' is so difficult to understand?'

'Just checkin', said Huey.

Welsh rolled his eyes, muttering something barely audible about incompetent members of the force, while Dewey rearranged his tie. Welsh pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing.

'We got someone busy hassling people in the Projects. Tenants are thrown out of their homes overnight...'

'They should pay the rent...', Dewey suggested as he looked up from rearranging his tie.

Welsh shot him a look. 'How 'bout you shut up and let me finish?'

Dewey raised his hands in surrender. 'I will remain quiet.'

'Good attitude, Dewey, you should be doing that more often', commented Ray.

'Shut up, Vecchio', he responded.

'That was _your_ duty...'

Welsh raised one of his hands as his detectives started arguing, 'Hey, hey! What did I say about shutting up? Shut up, and I mean you too Vecchio...'

'How 'bout me', Huey offered. Welsh sighed. 'Why not join the foray too. Put a sock in it, all of you. Except for the Mountie.'

'Hey, why not the Mountie?', Dewey said complaining.

'Because he's the only one present here who's not A: talking when he's not supposed to, and B: he's not such an idiot unlike the others.'

'Thank you kindly', Fraser replied.

'Whatever.'

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Welsh looked from the one to the other, making sure they remained quiet when he would begin to speak again. 'As I was saying, before I got interrupted...', he raised a hand to make sure Dewey remained silent. '...these people are bullied out of their homes, their property vandalized and immediately afterwards the block is sold on the market for some fancy price.'

'Sounds like someone with big Real Estate plans', Huey said, forgetting about the order to shut up.

Welsh sat back in his chair and gave up.

'I think this 'shut up' veto still stands, Huey', said Ray.

'Then why do I hear sound coming out of your mouth?'

'A friendly reminder of the Lieutenant's order.'

'I do believe you both are currently violating his order', said Fraser. Both detectives looked at the Mountie.

Welsh leaned forward again. 'How come the only thing sensible I heard now is coming from a Canadian?', he asked rhetorically.

'Because he's Canadian?', Dewey offered.

Welsh pointed with a piece of a new bagel at him. 'Shut up. No, the answer is: because he's the only one here who's brain isn't affected by whatever is blowing from Lake Michigan.'

He looked at them, his eyebrows somewhat raised, chewing. 'And your answer, Dewey, was an insult to American intellect, but I'm very positive you never joined their ranks.'

The detective opened his mouth to protest, and closed it again as the Lieutenant looked at him menacingly.

'To continue again, this has happened several times in the last months, to various neighborhoods. Usually the more low-budget ones. Now I'm almost afraid to ask, but I want you to find out who isbehind this.'

'Why us?'

'A good question. I did ask myself that too', Welsh replied. 'But the bottom line is: I'm not very swamped in replacements and the rookies are, well, rookies.' He paused.

'Besides there has been a victim in the latest case. An elderly woman died of her injuries after an experience with the crew that handles the muscle work.'

'She was murdered?', Ray asked.

'Officially it was reported as an accident, but it bears all the marks of a murder. I don't like scumbags to rough up elderly people. Especially not when some rich asshole is behind all that to get a cheap bargain on the Real Estate market.'

'We gotta take them down', Ray stated.

'That's right. Find out who's behind all of this. Note: the expelled tenants are not very keen on talking. They are still hassled.'

'Leave it up to us', Huey said.

'Guess again.'

'What, we're not allowed?', he said surprised.

'It calls for delicate skills, something you do not master.'

'Is Vecchio gettin' to do it?', Dewey demanded.

'That's right. Any problem with that?'

'Yeah, what about team spirit?'

'I'm all for team spirit', Ray cut through, 'as long as it means I won't be seeing your ugly faces all the time.'

'Gotta take that back, Vecchio', Huey threatened.

'What if I don't?'

Huey just hissed, shaking his head while pointing at Ray.

'Look', Welsh said with a sigh. 'Constable Fraser practically lives in the same slum areas as the ones we're talking about. He knows the people, speaks their language.' Ray frowned.

'The living among the trash I do recognize. I don't know about that language part, though. Sometimes even I wonder whether he's still speaking English. At least not the kind that I use.'

'He's Canadian', Dewey said.

'Fair point', Huey added.

It was then Fraser decided to wrap things up. 'We'll be on our way.'

'Good, now get lost', Welsh said and he sat back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose again.


	3. Chapter 3

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A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I had hoped I had grasped the characters, and it seems to be not too bad. Here is some more, I hope you'll enjoy it.

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They managed to get out of Welsh' office without committing murder, but there wasn't any declaration of a truce, as Huey was still threatening to hurt Ray if he wouldn't take back his insult, which he refused to do.

'You'll be sorry, Vecchio.'

'I am sorry since the day I was forced to work with you', he replied. 'Somebody must really hate me up there.'

'I can't blame him', Huey smirked. 'Someone with such a bad taste in clothes just asks to be chastised.'

'Not to mention the car', Dewey added. Ray's head shot up when they mentioned his beloved Riv.

'What about the car?...', he demanded.

'It's a piece of crap.'

'It's not, it's a classic beauty. A rare piece of American Craftsmanship, _una Machina sublima_...'

'It's from '71, that is antique', Huey said.

'Nothing wrong with antique.'

'It is when it's a Riviera.'

'Besides it's green, I mean...', Dewey added.

'What's wrong with green?'

'Green's bad, unless it's a dollar bill, or when you're Irish.'

'And you're Italian.'

'There's green in the Italian flag, dumbo', Ray said.

'Whatever. It's so fluorescent, it's obscene', said Huey.

'It's subtle.'

'Vecchio, a fluorescent green dyed '71 Riviera is anything but subtle', Dewey remarked.

'It reflects the temperament of the owner.'

'Exactly why I'm dumbfounded that Welsh chose you to handle things carefully on this case.'

'Hey, I never said I was the one for subtle approach. That's Bennie's department. Right Bennie?'

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They looked at the Mountie. Fraser raised one eyebrow. 'Well, I wouldn't know...'

'Well I do', said Ray. 'You're even polite to dopeheads, wino's, or this drunk bum earlier.'

'I wouldn't know if that would be classified as polite, Ray.'

'I would definitely not have your coolness dealing with those people', said Ray.

'Perhaps 'coolness' would not be the appropriate term to describe it...'

Huey pursed his lips, 'It does sound kinda right, though. Canada is a cold country.'

'Well, not entirely. Of course there are certain areas or states in which temperatures can drop to low standards, but definitely not everywhere. For instance in Manitoba or Saskatchewan there are places where temperatures in summer rise well above the 30 degrees.'

'Hey, that's not warm, that freakin' frigid', said Dewey.

'He's from Canada, dumbo.'

'So?'

'They use the Metric system there.'

'Quite right, Ray. 30 degrees Celsius would be 86 degrees Fahrenheit, whereas you would have been right if I had mentioned thirty degrees Fahrenheit, that would indeed not have been very warm for summer for it would mean that temperature would hover round minus one degrees Celsius. Technically it would be -1,1111, give or take a few ones.'

Both Huey and Dewey looked at Fraser stunned. 'I sometimes wonder whether he's bionic or something', Huey finally said. Ray shrugged, he was used to Fraser's long explanations.

'He's not bionic, he's Canadian. But that's almost the same, though.'

'I was merely explaining Canada does have the name to be a cold country, but it is not entirely correct.'

'And you've made your point clear, Bennie. Let's get out of here and start looking for those tenants and find out who killed the old lady.'

'That would be a good idea, Ray.'

'Of course it's a good idea, I mentioned it.'

'Well, that's not entirely true, Ray. Technically the Lieutenant suggested we should look into the events and find out who is behind all this. Therefore it wouldn't be your idea alone, I mean, it is your idea but...'

'Bennie?'

'Yes Ray?'

'Forget what I said and let's go.'

'Understood.'

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oOo

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Once they were on their way and Ray was pushing his way through the dense Chicago traffic, he looked at Fraser a couple of times. It tickled the Mountie's interest.

'Is there something wrong, Ray?'

'I dunno, you tell me.'

'I don't know either, that's why I asked the question. But you seem to be distracted by something.'

'My car.'

'What about your car?', Fraser asked puzzled.

'Is there something wrong with it?' He looked at Fraser. He rubbed one of his eyebrows. 'I don't hear anything unusual, the engine is making the same sound, every gauge seems to be working...'

'Not the technical stuff, the car, Bennie, the _Car_.'

'Why would there be anything wrong with your car?'

'I never said there was something wrong with it', Ray objected.

'Well, I do recall you asking me 'is there something wrong with it?' just a moment ago.'

'But I never said 'there's something wrong with the car', now did I?'

'Technically speaking, no. But the syntax of the sentence 'is there something wrong with it' implies that there _is_ something wrong.'

'Which there isn't...'

'Then why would you ask me...

'Never mind.'

'Hmm.'

'What?'

'Excuse me?'

'You said 'Hmm', Bennie.'

'What's wrong with 'Hmm'?'

'Everything. It means a whole lot more than just 'Hmm', it is something you say whenever you're thinking about something, or when you disagree but your polite Yukon-genes prevent you from saying anything. That's what this 'Hmm' means.'

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Fraser looked at Ray, puzzled, before he turned his attention on the road ahead again. He had no idea what Ray was talking about, why he was mentioning something wrong with his car, so he decided to remain silent for a while. Knowing Ray, he would say something again, which would clarify the whole matter. He didn't have to wait long.

'So you think my car is a piece of junk?'

'I never used any derogatory term to describe your car, Ray.'

'Well, you did not stand up when Huey and Dewey said it.'

'I didn't feel justified to intervene.'

'So you said nothing...'

'That would be correct, yes.'

'Saying nothing is the same as admitting they're right.'

'You think that my abstinence was supporting their views?'

'Well, it did certainly not help my case.'

'I see. So, through neither agreeing nor disagreeing I chose a side in the discussion?' Fraser looked honestly surprised.

'I think you did, we're partners, we're supposed to have each other's back.'

'We were discussing a car, Ray.'

'Not just any car, Bennie. _My car_.'

'Hmm.'

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oOo

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They drove further, silent for a while. Until Ray couldn't keep quiet anymore.

'So there's nothing wrong with it?'

'There's nothing wrong with it.'

'Honestly?', Ray asked. 'Honestly', Fraser responded.

'Good. Cause I love this car, Bennie'

'Understood, Ray.'


	4. Chapter 4

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A/N: Sorry for the excrutiating long time since my last post. I was very busy, didn't have time to do much on this fic, nor any other fic I have, for that matter. Furthermore, the average temperature here is 95 degrees Fahrenheit (or 35 degrees Celsius if you're used to this scale). Not really the type of weather to sit behind your computer screen.

**Anyway, here is some more -finally-. I still hope you're with me and enjoying this story. Let me know what you think...**

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'So what the name of the guy we're going to visit?', Ray asked as he tapped the breaks and swerved round a car slowing down for a traffic light on Garfield Boulevard. He steered hard left into Wolcott. Fraser raised his eyebrows over such a display of uncivilized driving, but chose to say nothing about it. Instead he responded to Ray's question. 

'It's a 75 year old lady, Martha Cox, she was befriend with the victim, Mrs. Abbott.'

'I see.' He fell silent again as he continued through Wolcott and turned right into 58th Street. He stopped near a brown 1930's brick apartment building. 'What made her decide to talk to us?'

'She and Mrs. Abbott were friends since the 1930's. Her death was immediately suspect to her. She wants to help us solve this case.'

They got out of the Riv and walked into the building. Inside the hall, Ray pressed the button for the elevator and waited. Fraser was already with one foot on the stairs.

'Um, Ray, what are you waiting for?'

Ray looked at Fraser. 'The elevator.'

'We could take the stairs, it's much more faster.'

'An elevator is more comfortable. You don't get tired.'

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oOo

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An elder lady walked into the hall too and mustered both men and the wolf. Ray looked back. 'Something wrong, Miss?' 

'No dogs allowed in here. House rules.'

'Actually it's a wolf', Fraser said. 'Well, half-wolf technically, but Diefenbaker takes great pride in his heritage.' The gray elderly woman first looked at Dief and then peered over the rim of her glasses at the Mountie.

'Dog or wolf, there's no difference.'

'I see. Well, Dief, I'm afraid you'll have to stay outside.' The wolf looked at him and then away, insulted.

'Look, lady. This wolf is coming with us, whether you like it or not', Ray said. She responded with a sharp pitch in her voice. 'There is only an exception for Service Dogs, mister.'

'Well, this is a Service Wolf', Ray commented as the doors of the elevator slid open. The woman looked at him, her eyebrows raised. 'A Service _Wolf_?'

'You bet.'

'That's nonsense, I've never heard of anything like that.'

'Well, granny, you're never too old to learn something new.' Ray wanted to step inside the elevator, but Fraser stopped him. 'Ladies first. After you ma'am.'

The woman stepped into the elevator and pushed on the button. Just when Ray wanted to get in too, the doors closed in front of his nose. The detective stared baffled at the doors. 'Well, I'll be damned. What has happened to politeness?'

'It took the elevator. It looks like it's going to be the stairs after all', Fraser said as he started to climb the stairs. Ray pressed the button in rapid succession. Well, pounding would be more accurate. But to no avail. Fraser, already two stairs up, walked back a little and leaned over the balustrade. 'Are you coming, Ray?'

He heard the Chicago cop growl. 'Yeah, yeah, I'm coming.' Fraser turned round and climbed the stairs again. Ray reluctantly followed.

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'Hey, Bennie!', he shouted and he looked up. A couple of floors above the Mountie's head appeared. 'Yes Ray?' 

'What floor is it anyway?'

'9th.'

'Oh, man', Ray growled. He continued to climb the stairs, mumbling his frustration with every step he took. About halfway he stopped for a breath of air, when he heard Fraser coming down the stairs again. 'Ah, there you are, I was wondering what took you so long', he said.

Ray shot the Mountie a dark look. 'I'm in the process of climbing this ridiculous amount of stairs. And I did enjoy the magnificent view of concrete so much I decided to pause here for a moment or two. Too bad I didn't bring my camera.'

'I see. Well, take your time Ray.'

'I'll have to, there's no mountaineer wasted on me, Bennie', Ray quipped.

Fraser nodded, walked up a few steps and turned round again. 'Of course, when it's too much, I could carry you...'

'What?'

'I'll carry you.'

'No way, Bennie. There's no way you'll carry me...'

'I have no problem with carrying you, Ray', Fraser said.

'But I do.'

'I'm merely suggesting that I could, should the occasion present itself, help you get up these stairs.'

'I'm very capable of getting up these stairs myself.'

'I see.'

'What, you disagree? You don't think I can do it?'

'I didn't say that.'

'The tone in your voice clearly indicated your opinion, Bennie.'

Fraser raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He looked at Ray. 'Very well.' And he leapt up the stairs again leaving Vecchio well behind. He heard the detective muttering and he leaned over the balustrade again. 'Really, Ray. It's no big deal.'

'Bennie, I'm not having that discussion. There's no way, _no way_, that I'm going to be carried up the stairs by a Mountie. Or anyone else for that matter. Maybe when we're out in the Yukon on some mountain slope, and I'm shot, stabbed, attacked by an Ice Bear, when I lost a gallon of blood, incapacitated and unconscious. Maybe, just maybe, I want to be carried. And then it's only to get down again.'

'Understood.'

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Finally Ray arrived on the ninth floor. He was breathing rather heavily, whereas Fraser - who had ascended and descended the same stairs a couple of times - seemed as fit as always. 

'We should have taken the elevator', was the first thing Ray said as he joined Fraser and Diefenbaker.

They walked down the hallway to the apartment where Mrs. Cox lived and Fraser knocked on the door.

'Who is it?', they heard a woman's voice after a while.

'Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Ma'am.'

'Who?'

'Chicago PD, we would like to talk', Vecchio cut through. Ray looked at Fraser. 'That usually helps.' Fraser pursed his lips. 'You didn't say your name.'

'So what? I'll introduce myself when we're face to face. Saves time.'

After a while the door opened but remained slightly ajar, a face peeked round, the chain still attached to the door.'

'You're from the police?'

'Most of the time, yeah.'

'Can I see your ID?'

Ray sighed and took out his wallet. Then the door closed again, they heard how the chain was unhooked and then the door opened again.

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On the threshold stood the lady from earlier in the hall. 

'Mrs. Martha Cox?', Ray asked.

'The rude man and his wolf.'

'Actually it's my wolf', Fraser said politely.

'Well then. Then it's just the rude man.'

'Detective Ray Vecchio, Homicide.'

'You're the Mountie', Mrs. Cox said to Fraser. 'That's right, Ma'am. Constable Benton Fraser.'

'Could we perhaps go in?', Ray asked.

'Of course', Mrs. Cox said and stepped back. 'What took you so long? We already met in the Hall...'

'We took the stairs', Fraser said as he stepped in, followed by Ray.

Martha Cox' brows knitted. 'The stairs? Who takes the stairs to the ninth floor...everybody takes the elevator.' Ray opened his mouth to say something, but Fraser waved for him to say nothing, and he shut his mouth again.


	5. Chapter 5

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**A/N: Okay, it's been extremely long since the last update and I would like to offer my sincere apologies for that. There's no reason in particular, but there are more stories I'm working on, on different series, and so on and so forth. Anyway, there's a new post, extra long this time, to make up for the time lost.**

**Hope you're still with me and this story and I hope you like it so far. Enjoy.**

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'We, that is detective Vecchio with my help, are investigating the alleged murder of Mrs. Abbott...' 

'Not alleged, it is a murder', Martha Cox interrupted.

'I see. And what is the reason for this opinion?', asked Fraser.

'Because just before she died, she complained to me about people harassing the tenants. Burglaries, phone calls with threats.'

'And what were these threats about?'

'Well, from what I understood, or at least Helen told me so, people wanted them to leave the building.'

'They were kicking them out?', said Ray. Martha Cox nodded. 'It was just like in one of those series on TV where someone wants to buy an old building to have it replaced by some fancy, new business center. And the people who are living there are just an annoyance, something to get rid of.'

'It brings down the Real Estate prices, when things happen', Ray stated.

Martha Cox seemed to be lost in thought for a while. 'I can't believe someone would want to hurt Helen. She was always so kind and friendly.'

'Did she perhaps know who was behind it?'

Martha Cox frowned. 'Helen? Goodness gracious me, no. She was hardly Miss Marple.'

'What did they say when they called?', asked Ray.

'Nasty things, with profanity too.'

'Threatening with bodily harm if they didn't leave?'

'Yes, and then there were the burglaries. Very strange, nothing taken but things were usually removed, like someone wanted to make sure you knew they had been inside.'

'Classical Mob tactics', said Ray. 'Usually pretty effective in scaring the shit out of everyone.'

'And Helen was scared, officers. Just before she died she was afraid someone might do something to her. For she might have been scared, she wasn't going to leave.'

'So they killed her.'

'Yes. I want you to find these murderous cowards. Helen didn't deserve to die.'

'We will do our utmost best, ma'am', said Fraser.

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oOo

* * *

Martha Cox stared at her hands resting in her lap. When she looked up, she had a determined look on her face. 'There is someone you can talk to who knows a lot about this. It's a journalist of the Chicago Tribune. Samantha Duvalier. She has written about similar events before and she has visited me about Helen's murder.' 

Ray sighed when he heard the name. 'Samantha Duvalier, great...'

Martha looked at Ray with a quizzed look. 'You have met her?'

Ray grunted what could be translated as a 'yes'. 'He means he has indeed met her before', clarified Fraser. 'He has sometimes a rather unorthodox way of communicating.'

'Yes, I figured as much when we met in the hall.' Her eyes twinkled a little as she continued. 'I had a really constructive conversation with Miss Duvalier, she is a very nice lady. You'll enjoy working with her.' Ray rolled his eyes when he heard this. But Martha didn't notice.

'I had an idea: the conversation and all had me very excited. All this detective work seems so exciting, why don't I help you detectives?'

'No', said Ray.

'But I can help...', Martha tried.

'No.'

'I might be old but I can do a lot.'

'No.'

'My best friend is murdered and you say I can't do anything?', Martha said getting agitated.

'No', said Ray.

'Does your friend know any words longer than this one syllable?', Martha quipped, looking at Fraser. 'In fact he does, ma'am, but I think the point is that in his opinion it is inadvisable to do anything.'

'Not only inadvisable, outright crazy', said Ray. 'These guys are not something to mess with. You see too much TV probably where bad guys pay the price.'

'I'm not some Cabbott Cove elderly with a nosy attitude, mister Vecchio', said Martha.

'Good, 'cause this is Chicago. One you started poking, they would probably have send you head first down a flight of stairs without even blinking an eye.'

'Bluntly put.'

'Perhaps, but straightforward, don't you agree?'

* * *

oOo

* * *

Martha pursed her lips, not very convinced. 'I could talk to some of the other tenants...' 

'Social chit-chat, all right. Detective stuff: no.'

'We don't seem to get to an understanding, mister Vecchio.'

'No we don't.'

Martha decided to change her tactics. 'Could I have your telephone numbers?'

Ray gave her his number. 'And yours?', she asked Fraser.

'Ah, well, that would be somewhat complicated', he said as he rubbed his eyebrow.

'Constable Fraser is referring to the fact he's the only person in the Chicago vicinity who doesn't have a phone.' Martha raised her brows in wonder. 'Oh really? How do you stay in touch?'

'He uses his neighbor's phone, or when he's at the Consulate.'

'I see.' She mustered Fraser once again. 'What a pity...' Ray gave Fraser a sarcastic 'thumbs up', but Fraser chose not to pay attention. 'Yeah, too bad Chicago is the Windy City, or he could have used smoke-signals', Ray smirked.

'Not every tribe uses smoke-signals, Ray. In fact, it would be quite useless in Nunavut, being scarcely populated. Particularly in the Qikiqtaaluk region (Baffin Island) it is common for...'

'Bennie, we're not here to discuss Eskimo habits...'

'...Inuit, Ray, not Eskimo...'

'...we're not here to discuss _Inuit_ habits', Ray repeated, 'but we are discussing habits of another kind.'

'Most definitely.'

'Good, 'cause I would like to move on and see some more people.'

* * *

oOo

* * *

'You could go and see Samantha', Martha offered. 'Thanks, but maybe later. I'm sure Miss Duvalier has a very tight schedule', Ray said as he got up. 

'Oh, no, she said she had time whenever things got interesting. I'll give her a ring', and she picked up the phone. 'Don't bother, we're...', Ray started but got interrupted by Martha.

'Don't be silly, dear. It's no problem.'

'Yeah, maybe not for you', Ray smirked.

'Hello Samantha? It's Martha Cox...', and she babbled away over the phone as Ray was about to leave. He was near the door when Martha put down the phone. 'She has time for you, you're more than welcome.'

Ray sighed and walked out. 'Great...'

* * *

oOo

* * *

Outside Martha's apartment Fraser headed for the stairs. 'No way. This time it's the elevator. That, or nothing', said Ray. 'Hmm', was all Fraser said. 

'That's right.' Ray hit the button. And almost instantly the doors opened. With a triumphant smile he stepped in. Fraser stepped in too and the doors closed. The elevator started to descend.

'Ray?'

'Hmm?'

Fraser opened his mouth but closed it again.

'What?'

'Well, it's probably none of my business...'

'If I knew what you wanted, then I could tell you whether it's your business or not', said Ray.

'Ah, I see.' Fraser rubbed his brow. 'Well, about this Samantha Duvalier...'

'What about her?'

'You didn't seem enthusiastic about meeting her.'

'No, not really.'

'Forgive me my inquisitiveness, but do you mind if I ask why?'

'I don't like her. No better: I hate her guts.'

'Ah, I see.'

Ray raised his brow when Fraser remained silent.

'That's it?'

'That's what?', asked Fraser looking confused.

'You ask me why I didn't like to go to this reporter and nothing more?'

'You answered my original question, it didn't seem appropriate to commence further', said Fraser somewhat defensive.

'So you're not interested just _why_ I hate her?'

Fraser pursed his lips and rubbed his brow again. 'Well, naturally I can't help being curious as to why...', he began.

'So you want to know?' Fraser looked like he was deliberating. 'Well, bluntly put it comes down to it, yes.'

'Then why didn't you ask in the first time', said Ray as he shook out another Wrigley chewing gum. Fraser frowned. The ways of communicating with Americans would always be a mystery.

'This Samantha Duvalier is a cunning, sneaky fox, who would go through you if it would make her story better. Whenever she got what she wants; you're out.'

'I see. I take it, it wasn't very rewarding working with her?'

The elevator had reached the ground floor and its doors slid open and they stepped out. 'Bennie, I think 'Not Rewarding' is not even near it...', said Ray as he walked towards the door.

'Hmm.' Fraser put on this hat as he stepped out of the building. 'But we are going to visit her, aren't we?' Ray shrugged a helpless shrug. 'Either that, or Miss Duvalier will spend the next hours bugging me on my cell phone. And we can't have that, now can we?'

'No, probably not, Ray'

* * *

oOo

* * *

The moment he sat in the Riv, Ray hit the accelerator and the car shot out of the parking lot, causing other drivers to press their brakes, and their horns while screaming a wide array of profanities. Fraser said nothing, but put his safety belt on. 'Ray?' 

'What?'

'Seat belt.'

'What about it?'

'You're not wearing one and with the average speed we're currently driving, there could be serious ramifications when we would be involved in an accident.'

Ray swerved round another car. 'Guess that means we ain't gotta crash.'

'Preferably, no.'


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: It has been too long since the last post. Ah, rats, make that Ridiculously Long since the last post. I do apologize for it. I really do. Now for those who still remember the plot since I abandoned you late September, here's some more. With more to come. No really. **

**If you would be so kind to let me know whether you liked it, it is appreciated. And to those who read (and/or review): Thank you kindly**

* * *

oOo

* * *

Silently, Fraser sat out the, to others with less arctic nerves, white-knuckle ride Ray would describe as 'easing through the traffic'.

'Say, Bennie,' Ray began as he honked for a couple that dared to even _consider_ crossing the street.

'Yes?'

'I changed my mind. We're going to stop by the bureau first.'

'I see.'

They drove further. 'Not going to ask why?'

'No, I think you will have a perfectly good reason why we should visit the bureau first.'

'Damn right I do, multiple. Want to know why?' Fraser's body language revealed he was at least considering the option. 'Well, naturally I'm tempted to say….'

'Yes….'

'Yes, although,' Fraser continued.

'I wanna make sure the two stooges back home are not messing up things we're supposed to handle with tact.'

'On the verge of being impolite, didn't Lieutenant Welsh state that….'

'Yeah, yeah, rub it in will you.' Ray held up his hands defensively.

'Uh, Ray….'

'What?'

'The essence of driving a car is having at least one part of the body on the steering wheel, preferably the hands.'

'Your point is?'

'You're not having either of them on it.' Ray placed his hands back on the wheel. 'Thank you kindly.' They arrived at the precinct where Ray parked his Riv in the lot and got out. 'You said there were multiple,' Fraser said as they walked down the hall.

'Multiple what?'

'You had multiple reasons to go back here first before visiting this reporter,' said Fraser. 'One of them was concern about Huey and Dewey's abilities.'

Ray huffed. 'Wouldn't you? Those two wouldn't find a Milk Dud in a Candy Store.'

'Hmm.'

'You don't agree? And concern is probably an understatement, I'm scared out of my wits,' said Ray as they entered the bureau.

'Scared huh? Ever considered handing back that badge you deliberately smear every day?' Huey remarked as he walked by. Dewey chuckled.

'Now why would I?'

'I can think of one million reasons why _you_ should hand over that badge, Vecchio,' said Huey as he poured himself a mug of coffee.

'I ain't got that long to wait for you to come up with the first, sadly there're only twenty-four hours in a day. And I got things to do.' Ray sat down at his desk. 'But because I'm in a good mood I can give one for you right now.'

'Enlighten me,' Huey smirked as he took a sip of his coffee. Ray pointed at the coffee-machine. 'Anyone who drinks the Hamburger Helper that leaks out of that unit ought to be fired right away with section A.'

'Asshole.'

'Truth hurts.'

'My fist hurts even more.'

'You ain't smart enough to calculate the angle to be successful. I could sit here all day and walk away still looking smart.'

'Shit, Vecchio, with the ties you wear, you'll _never_ look smart.'

'Not to mention the car,' Dewey added. Huey nodded. 'That's right, we haven't even _mentioned_ the car.' He sat down too. 'Why you're back anyway?' asked Dewey. 'No luck, just the usual result?' Both he and Huey laughed. Ray faked a smile. 'That's right, laugh away, wiseguys.'

* * *

oOo

* * *

By then Francesca walked over to them. 'There was someone on the phone for you earlier, some reporter. I told her to dial your cell but she said she had done that several times already.'

'Exactly why I turned it off.'

'Anyway she's on her way over here.'

'Great. Couldn't tell her to….'

'Shove off?' Francesca offered. 'Yeah.' She shook her head. 'No, I tried to, but it seemed I didn't come through.'

'Join the club. But thanks anyway,' he said sarcastically. Francesca drew an insulted face. 'Hey, I can't help it someone is interested in _seeing_ you, for reasons unknown to me….'

'Don't you have somewhere to go?' Ray said as he rummaged through his drawers. She rolled her eyes. 'I _work_ here.'

'That's what I meant.'

'You're such an asshole sometimes,' she fumed as she turned away. 'Hear, hear!' Huey remarked. As she turned she bumped into Fraser who has just trying to make way for her, and –through fate's bizarre twists- ended up right in front of her.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I'm not,' commented Francesca as she pulled her blouse straight again. Fraser frowned, looking utterly confused. 'isn't the phrase 'happening to bump into someone'?' she said to Fraser.

'Happening of having,' quipped Ray. 'Pick your favorite,' she said as she drew her finger across Fraser's Sam Browne. 'I know mine,' she added.

'Oh dear.'

'Tonight's offer is still open,' she added with a smile. 'You're not going to get away just that easily.' Ray huffed. 'I think over time Bennie's got the picture, right Bennie?'

'I, eh…well, to be honest I….'

'Just say yes.'

'To your question? Or to Francesca's…'

'If you're smart, pick the question. The other option is a no-brainer.'

'Thanks a lot, Ray,' Francesca said as she walked away, agitated.

Ray rummaged again through a drawer.

'Looking for something?' Fraser informed, steering the conversation to more comfortable grounds. 'I can only hope he's not looking for his intellect,' Huey smirked. 'Because that would be the most fruitless quest in history.' Ray smiled a deadly smile to Huey. 'Whattayouknow, it took him no less than ten minutes to come up with the first of his one million reasons.'

'Fuck you, Vecchio.' Ray held up his hands. 'Thanks but no thanks.'

'So what _are_ you looking for?'

'Something to seriously infringe the First Amendment.'

'Excuse me?'

'A gun, Bennie. I'm looking for a gun. Remember what I said about Samantha Duvalier? A man needs to be prepared.'

'I have noted over time your rather unusual approach, but this...You're not seriously considering to….'

'Of course not, Fraser, I'm looking for a file to put in the things we got so far.'

'You won't need a file, Vecchio,' Huey said as he swerved his chair round to face him. 'You got nothing but blank paper.' Welsh appeared in the doorway. 'Vecchio!'

'Lieutenant…'

'What you got so far?' Huey and Dewey chuckled. 'You want me to crack the news, or do you want to face it yourself?' Dewey said. Welsh took the toothpick he was chewing on from his mouth and pointed it at Dewey. 'I cannot remember to have mentioned your name.'

'You didn't, sir.'

'Then why do I hear sound coming out of your mouth, instead of Vecchio's?' Dewey shrugged. 'Because…'

'Dewey,' Welsh interrupted. 'You're doing it again.' The detective frowned and opened his mouth, but closed it when Welsh shot him a look. 'Well?'

'Mrs. Cox was befriend with the victim and has told us, she –Helen Abbott- was afraid something might happen to her. The building had had burglaries without anything stolen. Oldest Mob trick in the book, phone calls. The lot.'

'What else?'

'Apart from being very persistent in wanting to help us, she has had the kind heart to inform the press about it.' Welsh nodded. 'Press got a name?'

'Yeah, Beelzebub, also known as Samantha 'This Week' Duvalier.'

'Chicago Tribune…' Welsh said, musing. 'I always kinda liked her columns. Good looking too. You could do worse.' Ray did a double-take. 'Worse? I could do _worse_?' Welsh shrugged. 'What's the worst that could happen, it's only a column.'

'It's a knife in my back, that's what it is.' Welsh turned round to head back into his office. 'Whatever. Deal with it, and get me something more.' The door slammed shut again. 'And thanks for the support, I needed it,' Ray smirked.

'Well, consider this,' Fraser offered, 'at least you're dealing with Miss Duvalier on comfortable grounds.' Ray eyed Fraser. 'She's got the habit of making you feel uncomfortable in your own home. Trust me, being here doesn't help squat.'

'Detective Vecchio?' a soothing voice with just a slight Quebéc accent said.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Okay, I'm not even pretending to want to apologize... It's been too long. The story has been a little 'snowed under' lately with other stories. Not that it snows here, but that's a whole different matter. So, without further ado: a new post. **

**Since it has been a while, let me know if I'm still treading the right track, character-wise that is... thanks. Oh, and enjoy.**

* * *

oOo

* * *

Ray looked up with a plastered, phony smile. A dark-haired, mid-thirties and attractive woman walked over to them, clad in a fine woolen blue two-piece suit, with a beige cashmere overcoat, holding a small leather suitcase. 'Miss Duvaleer,' he said, purposely twisting her name, to trigger a response. She didn't disappoint him. 'It's still Duvalier, detective.'

'I sucked in French.' Her smile was deadly. 'Perhaps not only in French,' she responded.

'Ouch!' said Huey and Dewey in unison.

'Thanks for the compliment.'

'It wasn't meant to be a compliment.'

'I know, I forgot how difficult you found it to be friendly.' Both Huey and Dewey cringed with his remark. Samantha's smile became even more cool.

'It's amazing how natural the insults come from you when we're together,' she said. Ray began to smile. Fraser's eyes jumped from Samantha to Ray and back. He had noticed the slight French-Canadian accent, typical for someone from Quebec. Her pronunciation was overall flawless, but every now and then he could hear her roots coming through. 'Together' had sounded more like 'Togedder', with the emphasis on the last syllable.

He cleared his throat. She looked at him. 'You must be Constable Benton Fraser,' she said.

'That's correct ma'am.'

'I've heard a lot about you. Good things mostly. Serving Canada with honor.'

'Well, I eh….'

'It's good to see a fellow Canadian is handling the case.'

Fraser rubbed his brow. 'Well, ma'am, you see, technically it's Ray's case. I am merely…'

'…assisting to make this case a success,' she completed. 'Well…preferably, yes. But…

'I find it comforting to know you're involved. It brings a certain finesse to it all.'

'Right,' Fraser said, a bit hesitant as his eyes darted to Ray, who leaned back in his chair with a bored expression on his face.

'We've never met, have we, Constable?'

'No, ma'am.'

'It's Samantha,' she smiled at him. 'I don't know whether detective Vecchio has told you something about me.'

'A few things.'

'Nothing bad I hope?' Fraser frowned. 'Well, I eh….'

'Hey,' Ray said as he spread his arms theatrically, 'you know me. Would I do that?' Her look said enough. 'Anyway, I may work in the US, I'm still Canadian.'

'Yes, I noticed that. Québec, around Trois Rivières. I'm not too sure, but perhaps St Étienne-des-Grès?' Samantha's eyes grew wide. 'How did you know?'

'Because he's bionic, he just knows stuff.'

'I asked Constable Fraser.'

'It was the way you said Québec and Canadian, it sounded like Canadienne, and people I know from the Montréal-Québec area put the emphasis on the same syllables as you did in English.'

'I'm impressed.' He shrugged a little. 'Besides that, Duvalier is a common name around there, regional.' She smiled. 'I think working together will be wonderful.'

* * *

oOo

* * *

'Whoah, time-out,' interrupted Ray. 'Working _together_? I don't think so. This is a Chicago PD investigation.' She turned to face him. 'I thought you wanted to solve this case.'

'I do.'

'Then you'll need me.' Ray pulled a face. 'News-flash for you, I don't _need_ your help. You came here yourself remember?' She pursed her lips. 'True, I did. Because I thought you might be interested in what I've already found out.'

'I don't like the 'already found out' part.' A smirk was dancing around on her face. 'Why, afraid I wanted to insult your work?'

'Well, so far, all I have heard were insults; so yeah, I got kinda worried.'

She put her suitcase on his desk and opened it. She took out a file and handed it to Ray. 'What's this?' he asked as he eyed her suspiciously. 'A few articles from the Tribune dated from a few years back up until recently. All covering the same thing you're investigating.' Ray flipped through the file. 'As you see, it's all about apartment blocks being bought for next to nothing and turned into fancy malls, top-level condo's.'

'You're telling me, these cases all involved the same set of things we're seeing now?' She nodded. 'In each and every case, tenants were bullied out of their homes. And then, mysteriously, the buildings burned down. Replaced by modern and expensive apartments and other things.'

'Hmm,' said Ray as he kept paging through the file. 'So,' she said as she leaned a bit forward, 'I've done my part, now I want to know where you stand.'

He looked up from the file. 'You mean the case?' She sighed. 'Of course the case.'

'Well, we've interviewed a couple of witnesses, ran a few leads, but nothing specific yet to make any statements.'

'You mean you've only talked to Martha Cox, did not do anything else and then went back to the station?' Ray put down the file. 'Don't you love the press, Bennie? They always make you look and feel bad.' Fraser decided that perhaps remaining silent would be smart and did precisely that: he remained silent.

'I'm just giving you my interpretation of the situation.'

'You weren't there.'

'Well, to be honest, we _did_ only speak to Mrs. Cox. And then we went back here,' Fraser commented. Samantha began to smile. Ray sighed and rolled his eyes. 'Thanks, Fraser.'

'You're welcome.'

'That was meant sarcastically. When people say something sarcastically, they mean the exact opposite.'

'I am familiar with the term, Ray,' said Fraser he rubbed his brow.

'Then don't say 'you're welcome' to something that was said sarcastically.'

'Understood.'

'Good.' Ray looked at Samantha again. 'Happy now?'

'No, not yet. I've helped you, and I would appreciate it when I get something back in return.'

'About the case? We've only started this morning. Nothing much to give.'

'Cannot or will not?' Ray smiled a thin smile. 'Pick your favorite.' She pursed her lips. 'It seems I've, yet again, wasted my time with you, detective. I should've known.'

'Hey, I didn't ask you to drop by, Miss Duvaleer.'

'It's Duvalier, Ray. You, of all people, should know better than that,' she said as she got up.

Ray shied his eyes down, for just a second, before he faced her again. Okay,' he simply said. Samantha turned. 'Okay, what?'

'Okay, you can call me to find out what we've got.' A small smile appeared on her face.

'Thank you kindly.' Ray waved it away. 'Yeah, yeah.'

'I'll call you tomorrow?' she offered. Ray nodded. 'Don't know whether we'll have something, but you can give it a shot.' She nodded. She was about to walk away when she turned again and took something out her briefcase. 'Here, this is some more for you to read. But make it good okay?'

Ray smiled ruefully as he shook his head. 'How come I'm not surprised? Withholding information. Some consider it to be a crime.'

'To some, yes. But with you I'll take my chances,' Samantha said. Then she left.

* * *

oOo

* * *

Ray let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

Huey began to applaud. 'Quite a performance, Vecchio, quite a _per-for-mance_,' he chuckled.

'Get lost, Huey.'

'Not in your lifetime. I thought people could mellow over time, but I guess I was wrong.'

'Meaning?'

'You know what I mean.'

'No, I guess not.' Huey huffed. 'Whatever, Vecchio, whatever.'

Fraser looked at Ray. He looked back. 'No,' was all he said.

'No?'

'No.'

'You don't know what he meant?'

'No, I'm not going to explain, that's what.'

'I cannot remember asking you to do so, Ray,' said Fraser.

'It's your look.'

'My look…'

'Yeah, you got this really funny way of looking when you want to know things. I can tell that look 'cause I've seen it a couple of hundred times. You gave me that look, and therefore my answer is No.'

'Ah…'

'That's right.'

'I see.'

'Uh-huh.'

'No chance of….' Ray raised one eyebrow as he picked up the file. He scribbled something down on it and showed it to Fraser. 'No!' it said.

'Understood.'


End file.
